


Paint Me a Picture and Tell Me I'm Pretty

by Trekkele



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Rated T for language., Steve Rogers is a Troll, late night shows, misuse of art skills and high school english class, natasha is there for one line sorry, plot relelvant oc, this is a grammar joke, youve been warned and i take no responsibility for what comes next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24315361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkele/pseuds/Trekkele
Summary: Look, it's cold, there are Nazis shooting at them, and the Howlies are down to half a chocolate bar and a single pair of dry socks. Steve is taking his laughs where he can find them.aka; I Cant Believe I Wrote A Grammar Joke.
Relationships: Howling Commandos & Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	Paint Me a Picture and Tell Me I'm Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd and cheered by bllbabaggins and heartsinger. People can be really awesome and read ur dumb grammar jokes and its great.

It started, like most terrible ideas the Howlies had, during a poker game.

Between enthusiastically blowing things up (usually by using things neither G-d or the manufacturer intended as a fire starter), and generally terrifying both Hydra and the upper fuckers in charge, the Howlies spent most of their time showing off, taking the piss out of each other, and playing poker. Sometimes even at the same time. It had only taken three games for them to catch on to the fact that Steve, while smiling like a choir boy at Sunday mass, was not only a shark, he was _ruthless_ in the face of chocolate rations.

In his defense, he gave back any non-chocolate winnings with a grin, claiming it wouldn’t be fair for a captain to steal from his men.

“Because I don't mind admitting,” he said cheerfully, around a square of the cheapest chocolate the US army could scrounge up, “that winning against you fellas feels easier than stealing a nickel candy.”

“Fucking scandal, Captain America stealing candy,” Morita grumbled, slapping his cards down on the table.

So now, instead of having the pot cleaned out by their Captain, the Howlies would play, and Steve would sit by and knit. Usually gloves, because somehow the most competent, (if chaotic), team of soldiers he’d ever had the pleasure of clapping eyes on managed to lose at least one every mission.

And since none of them had the self preservation G-d gifted a toddler with, they’d still try and drag Steve into the game somehow. This time it was Dugan, lighting a cigarette with the gleam in his eyes that usually led to someone getting lit on fire. Sometimes even on purpose.

“So, Rogers, since you’re so insistent that a skill ain’t the same as cheating, can you guess a man’s hand just by watching?”

So far Steve had a 3/5 average.

“You know boys, as much as I like reminiscin’ about my dancing monkey days in this damp patch of hell, and as pretty as you showgirls are,” he ignored the hoots and whistles, grinning at his sketchbook in the firelight, “as far as I can tell, you lot of ungrateful bastards are just getting a free show.”

“So what are we betting? You’ve already dumped all your damp ciggies into the pot.” Morita glared over the meagre pile of assorted shit they were hunched over. Winning was worth bragging rights more than anything else, unless they had just got new supplies.

Since this mission came with an unexpected bonus Hydra base, it had taken too long for there to be anything but half a chocolate bar and a single pair of dry socks worth winning.

“Maybe a first dibs on the new supplies, since Rogers likes his chocolate so much?”

“Don’t he got that anyway, being captain and all?” Bucky smirked around his cigarette, enjoying the lazy back and forth.

“Maybe youse’all oughta stop harassing me. I’m tryin’ to make sure you don’t lose a fucking finger to some frost. Delicate little shits.” Steve still hadn’t looked up from the knitting in his lap, hunched in a corner as he sketched out something in long, loose lines.

Dugan wasn’t ready to let it go. “Yeah ok, but what if _I_ win?”, he leaned forward, glaring from under his bowler.

Denier huffed and rattled something off that made Rogers smirk and shake his head and Jones bury his face in the tattered cards. Dum-Dum flipped them a rude little message with his free hand and turned back to the captain.

“I want you to make me a pin-up, since you keep scribbling in that book of yours.”

It never failed to amuse them how the captain could swear like a sailor and charm a general from fifty paces out, but mention a lingerie card and he went red as the lipstick Agent Carter favors. Although, that's probably the reason he goes red.

“What?” Barnes looked up from his cards, grinning over at the Captain, who just stretched out his legs and smirked back, cheeks burning.

“C’mon Cap, make me a pretty pin-up!”

Steve's eyes were flashing in the low light, and his grin was a little more manic then it should have been. Bucky cackled in his corner, something that should probably have worried the commandos more than it did. They’ll learn. “Sure thing, Dugan, you just had to ask.”

* * *

Oddly enough, it’s one of those late night interviewers that brought it up. Steve couldn't say he hates them; he’s used to being trotted out like a prize monkey and told to smile and wave for the girls and boys (and the men and women). At least, he told Natasha, definitely not cuddling on one of Tony’s ridiculous couches and passing three tubs of ice cream (ain’t the future swell?) between the two of them, they approved most topics beforehand. And kept their hands to themselves.

(There’s murder in Natasha's eyes when he lets that one slip and he almost felt bad. Almost.)

Either way, press conferences with people who run headfirst into explosions _for fun_ were more chaotic than any weird game Jimmy Hall could come up with.

“Ok, so, I have to ask, Captain, -”

“Steve.”

“Yeah, maybe when I’m a national icon too, I’ll actually do that.”

“But Jimmy,” Steve widened his eyes, playing up the guileless aw-shucks boy scout, (if only they knew he’d got kicked out for punching a kid) “I was told you’re essential viewing for the time displaced soldier! Doesn't that make you some kinda icon?” He gave a half turn to the audience with a wicked smirk and wink. First time the USO girls convinced him to use that trick on stage someone in the audience had fainted. He thought Sally would never let him live it down.

“Look, I know you’re probably joking, but I don't think I can actually respond to that without screaming.” Steve just grinned at the man's half-awed, half-gleeful expression.

“That’s all right, do you need a minute?”

“Yeah, uh, show’s over everyone, go home, Captain Rogers just called me an icon. I can retire now!”

Jimmy walked off stage, waving and bowing as Steve giggled uncontrollably in his seat. He made it out to the side stage curtains before running back and sliding into his chair. “Welcome back to our regular programing where we definitely don't have a temporary existential crisis due to superheros giving us compliments.” Jimmy turned back to the Captain, arms folded and pulling a serious face that lasted less than a minute.

“So, _Steve_ ,” he grinned at him, “there's been a lot of chatter around your art lately.” Steve pulled a face that could only be referred to as _absolutely mortified_ , “especially since the Met opened that exhibit.”

The captain blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Kinda weird to think about it, I mean. Probably wouldn't have gotten in there if I couldn't punch real good. Which,” he grinned with half his mouth, looking up from under his lashes, “is not generally a quality looked for in many artists.”

“On behalf of the world, Captain, I have to pause here and thank you for being able to ‘punch real good’.”

Steve laughed while Jimmy raised a black stock card from under the table. “However, one of my favorite pieces of art, not just of yours, but of all time, isn't being shown. And I wanted your opinion on that.”

Steve leaned forward, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair. Jimmy flipped the card to reveal a pin-up style drawing of a soldier in the khaki skirt uniform, winking out at the viewer and perching on a blown up tank. What was unique about it was that instead of the typical WAC, it depicted an obvious likeness of James ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan, mustache and all.

Steve immediately lost it, throwing his head back and laughing into the elbow he’d flung over his face. “So you recognize it!” Jimmy sounds delighted, the audience barely containing their own laughter against the Captain's hysterical laugh.

“Oh my G-d who kept that? I thought Dum-Dum was gonna snap his cap when he saw it -” Steve kept giggling into his palm, wiping his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, that really is one of mine. Was that - was the provenance ever a question?”

“Well, not really, but it’s not your typical example of Captain America memorabilia.”

“I mean, you’d be surprised what never made it out of the Smithsonian back room,” Steve grinned, “Not much room for fine watercolours in the German winter, gotta get our laughs somewhere.”

“That being said - hang on, can we get #releasecapspinups to go viral?” He laughed as Steve buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as Jimmy shouted at the audience, “Make it go viral, people!”

“So now that that's taken care of,” Jimmy turned back to Steve, who was taking a sip of water and shaking his head, smile set deep in his face. “What prompted the drawing? Did you just wake up one morning and think, 'hey, I’m gonna draw my teammate looking like Betty Grable?' ”

“Well,” Steve said with that same look in his eyes, the one that promised trouble, the one that even the Howlies had eventually learned to avoid. “he asked me to!”

**Author's Note:**

> someday i will figure out how to embed photos in fics and then draw that pin up and make all of you yell at me >:)
> 
> Jimmy Hall is a mashup of late show hosts, he's whomever you thought of first when reading his dialogue. Next time i write a late show fic its gonna be based on Brie Larson.


End file.
